


consider a foundation

by kosy



Category: Mabel (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Self Awareness, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff-Adjacent, Missing Scene, Nebulous Time Period, snapshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25120390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosy/pseuds/kosy
Summary: Mabel is curled inward toward her, head tucked against Anna’s sternum as if to ensure that her heart will go on beating. Her eyes are closed. She’s not asleep, probably, but her face is relaxed enough that maybe she could be. Anna has no plans either to sleep or to pretend to do so.
Relationships: Anna Limon/Mabel Martin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 19





	consider a foundation

**Author's Note:**

> i realized a bit ago that there were 13 fics in the mabelanna tag and none of them were from 2020, so here we are! this is set at some point after episode 24. hope you all enjoy :)

They’re lying down on the floor somewhere near the stomach of the house.  _ Walls have ears, _ the ghost of the man had said, neglecting to mention the rest of the anatomy. But Anna knows now. 

Sleep is a nebulous thing here in the in-between, hard to grasp and hold onto, but they’re nothing if not determined. Usually Mabel isn’t one for clutching at their last threads of normalcy, but there’s something to be said for the concept of just lying down and trying to shut your brain off, even if only for a little while. Respite, however fabricated. 

Mabel is curled inward toward her, head tucked against Anna’s sternum as if to ensure that her heart will go on beating. Her eyes are closed. She’s not asleep, probably, but her face is relaxed enough that maybe she could be. Anna has no plans to sleep or to pretend to do so. She watches the walls of the house. Watches how they shift minutely. She could probably do something about that, this wooden thing still so eager to quietly devour them whole, but it’s not worth the trouble. 

She read something about liminality once. Little pockets of the in-between, the not-quite-here. 

In Anna’s opinion, those liminal places have no right being this large or this sentient. Much less this hostile. 

Mabel shifts in her arms, tips her chin up, and it digs just a little uncomfortably into her collarbone. Her eyes open slow, ghostly green. Traffic-light green, honestly, they really are that vivid, but if she said that Mabel would sulk about it. Only the prettiest metaphors for her; she accepts nothing else. 

Anna considers saying it anyway, if only to see her nose wrinkle in disgust. 

“What are you thinking about?” Mabel asks, voice sleep-scratchy. Anna likes her like this, the way she is in the first couple moments after she wakes up. When she’s still too softened by sleep to spit fire at her (as much as she admittedly enjoys the fire too). 

She realizes she’s been staring but doesn’t look away; it’s not as if Mabel has ever minded her moments of strangeness. “I don’t know.” Not a total lie. 

“Yes you do,” she murmurs, eyes half-closed. 

“I don’t,” Anna insists. 

“Sure.” She tilts her face back down again, pushing her forehead into the junction of Anna’s shoulder and neck. From where her palm is resting on Mabel’s spine, she can feel the muscles untensing. Wonders if Mabel feels relaxed here, maybe for the first time in her whole life, or if this is just another layer of the matryoshka she is allowing to be removed from her. 

The silence draws itself out another several minutes. Anna’s fairly certain Mabel’s asleep now, based on the slow in-out breaths, but she asks anyway: 

“Do you think this is a love story?” 

Mabel doesn’t open her eyes, just hums against her throat in acknowledgement or maybe consideration. “I think every story is a love story.” 

Anna sighs. “Mabel, you know what I—” 

“Well, what do you want me to say, Anna Limon?” Her voice is sharp again. It’s funny how she says her full name, like it’s an epithet or a prayer or both. “Stories are told only about love. The murderer’s love of the kill, the husband’s love of his dead wife and her body rotting away below the earth, the child’s love of a lost toy, the friend’s love of her friend, the— _ ha, _ the king’s love of his power.” 

“There are stories about hate out there.” 

She shrugs. “The love of hatred, then.” 

“That’s a fallacy. Not to mention an oxymoron.” 

“It’s not. You just don’t like to admit when you’re wrong,” she says, smiling audibly. 

“That too,” Anna concedes, grinning too in spite of herself. Mabel makes a soft noise of satisfaction and somehow manages to curl closer to her. Anna lets her eyes slide shut, just for a moment, and bends to press a kiss into her hair. 

“I do, though,” Mabel says after a long few moments of silence. 

“What?” she mumbles, struggling back toward alertness. 

“I do think this is a love story. I knew what you meant.” 

“Well,” Anna says, momentarily at a loss. “Good.” 

“Good,” she echoes, then snickers. “Can we always argue when we’re half-asleep? Things get worked out so much quicker.” 

“Oh, you’d miss it before long. You like when I get all mean.”

“Hm. Point.” 

“Anyways, I doubt it’ll be long before we’re at each other’s throat again,” she comments reasonably, and Mabel snorts. 

“Romance.” 

“Romance,” Anna agrees. 

It’s not that she enjoys having  _ conflict _ with Mabel, it’s just that the act of talking to her at all is such a burning thing. Deescalation doesn’t even cross her mind once they get really started. She spent her whole life trying to quiet down, trying to walk things back, trying to keep everything under control. And then, Mabel. 

_ And then, Mabel.  _ What an apt summary of her life. Everything was one way and then, Mabel. 

So no, it’s not the conflict that appeals to her. It’s the unashamed loudness. It’s the way the words spiral from them, hot and precise and furious. It’s the way Mabel flings her arms out wildly as she paces closer, a half-manic grin curling her lips into a snarl. It’s the brightness of her eyes. Mabel never tells her to  _ take a breath, calm down, get a handle on yourself, Anna, Jesus  _ Christ, _ what the hell is wrong with you, you sound fucking hysterical.  _ She just laughs, harsh and a little crazed, and finds a way to twist anger into poetry. 

They fire back and forth louder and louder with every sentence until they work something out, and they always do seem to. 

She never thought she’d say she’d enjoy every other conversation with a lover turning into the verbal equivalent of a street fight, but. It’s satisfying. It’s cathartic. 

Also kind of hot, but that’s not really the point.

Mabel pulls away a bit to grin at her. “You’re thinking about it.” 

“You started it,” Anna mutters. 

“Yes, I wonder why I would have done that.” 

“You aren’t subtle, you know.” 

“I never claimed to be,” she reminds her, grinning like the cat that got the goddamn canary. 

“For somebody who claims to worship me, you’re awfully uppity. And smug, for that matter.” As ever, she can’t help the smile pulling at her lips. She’s got the worst poker face. 

“I contain multitudes, Anna Limon,” Mabel says, tossing her hair. 

Anna snorts. “Is sacrilege among said multitudes?” 

“Honestly, I’m a little offended that you thought it wouldn’t be.” 

“Well. Please do forgive me for my sins, King Mabel.” 

She raises an eyebrow at her. “Your metaphors are getting a bit muddled, I think.” 

“Nobody’s perfect.” 

_“You_ are. And don't look at me like that! You walked into that one!” 

“Oh, stop,” she grumbles, and then, upon further consideration, kisses her. Only partially to make her shut up. 

“You aren’t subtle either,” Mabel informs her breathlessly, finally pulling back. 

“Yes, yes, we’re both horribly predictable,” she laughs. A concession never feels like defeat with Mabel. Just the opening to their next sparring match. 

Mabel grins at her and kisses her one last time—”We really should try to get some rest, kingdoms to take over and all that,”—long and lingering, before resting her head down again, fitting herself back into Anna’s body.  _ Where she should be, _ some voice inside her whispers.  _ Where she belongs. Where she will always belong. _

Anna wraps an arm over Mabel’s shoulders and hauls her even closer, burying her nose into her hair. She feels Mabel smile against her throat and lets out a soft breath. 

She thinks this is maybe the only place either of them have ever belonged.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! you can find me on tumblr [@boneroutes](https://boneroutes.tumblr.com), and if you'd like to leave kudos/comments they always make my day! hopefully i'll be writing more for these two soon. thanks again <3!!


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